


7 of Spades

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Persona 5, Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humor, King of Bel!Kazuya, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: Spending the majority of his time traversing Escher-like palaces doesn't leave much wiggle room for a social life, especially when certain aspects of that social life require some pretty demanding pre-reqs. It means he doesn't have much time to himself. Not between offering up his evening to beef bowl loving politicians, or studying in crowded diners, or pretending like he knows how to comfort someone who's dealt with a failed suicide.So frankly, taking the time to watch a magic show and get hit on by a bizarre demon king is kind of a welcome respite. It's the little things in life.





	7 of Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katraa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/gifts).



* * *

 

   
    As far as goals to work towards, 'live an honest student life' had seemed simple enough on the surface. It was the sort of goal that promised to be enticingly manageable: do your homework; don't cheat; don't bully your obnoxious classmates despite their complete inability to avoid saying extremely punchable things, like suggesting that you're stupid enough to shank some of them out in public when you would _obviously_ wait for an opportunity and a dark alley for maximum plausible deniability. Little stuff like that.  
  
    But now? While you're dicking around between pulling heists inside metaphysical representations of other people's sins? When you're waiting, trying not to think about whether or not this is the one time the change of heart doesn't entirely work -- that this time, maybe it's not enough, and you're going to be thrown out again? It seems a little less clear.  
  
    What is an honest student life? Is it returning all your DVD rentals before you were able to watch any of them because your cat makes you go to bed at eight o' clock every night? Is it doing your best to improve yourself as a person because your scary fake arms dealer won't talk to you until you've consumed enough burgers the size of a manhole?  
  
    Maybe it doesn't matter. It's nice to have a less concrete goal in the middle of the chaos that is the rest of your life. It means you can be more flexible. It means that for some small stretch of time, all the things you can do aren't things that require you to put your life on the line. That any mistakes you make are simple, human mistakes anyone might make, that won't result in anyone's immediate death or dismemberment. ...Probably.  
  
    Maybe it's nice to have normal student problems.  
  
    At least, that's what Akira decides. Those days of limbo between a palace's destruction and the breathless waiting for the heart to change are stressful, in their own ways, but freeing all the same. It's the best time for breathers, when his friends feel better after a successful heist and less stressed about their impending deadline. But it's also the best time to have a legitimate excuse for pawing around for an umbrella that matches his pants, because if they all get arrested, he'll only have a few days to enjoy looking fly in all possible weather. Priorities.  
  
    Today's search is fruitless too, though. He already has a perfectly serviceable umbrella, so if he's going to go to the effort of replacing it, it needs to be a really good one.  
  
    " _Joker_..."  
  
    His bag rustles beneath his bicep. He doesn't have to look down to spot the furry head popping out from the top. " _I'm getting hungry_."  
  
    Truth be told, he's not sure he can even stomach the very suggestion of food after yesterday. He'd foregone both breakfast and lunch, and he still doesn't feel good about taking the stairs too quickly. Still, he's not in the business of starving his cat. Er, temporary cat. Morgana insists he's a real boy, but it's admittedly difficult to think of him in such a way when Akira still has to feed him tuna off a plate on the floor.  
  
    Akira reaches up and pats him briefly. "On it."  
  
    He'd already been heading that way. Akira picks up the pace, heading for the stairs leading into the station below. He doesn't make it far, however. A head of dark blue hair snags his attention and holds it fast, drawing his head along with his gaze until he's staring openly at a boy who appears to be close to his age, standing right beside the sandwich board for Babel Records. It's not the blue, or that it's hair, that interests him overly much. It's that it's hair framed by two sharp black points of fabric furling up from around his neck. That's a cape. He's wearing a cape.  
  
    He follows the lines of matte black all the way down to where it pools haphazardly on the floor around his feet, then back up again to where the boy's eyes are fixed straight on him. They're bright red. Not a dark, cinnamony color that could pass for brown, but _red_. Red like theater curtains, or the background of Akira's cell phone, or the red suits from a deck of playing cards.  
  
    Akira blinks owlishly, his eyes flickering up in the direction of one of his sharp blue eyebrows as it lifts. "See something you like?" he asks. "Or are you just window shopping?"  
  
    What does he even say to that? His staring had admittedly been very rude. It isn't as though he hadn't seen plenty of weird shit in the past couple of months, and hell, he runs around the Metaverse in a 90's trench coat with tails. But this isn't the Metaverse. This is the mundane, every day real world, and this guy is wearing a cape and headphones that point up over the back of his head like cat ears.  
  
    He jabs a fingertip against the bridge of his glasses and shoves them up higher onto his nose. "I was wondering where I could get a cool cape like yours," he finally says.  
  
    For a brief moment, the boy says nothing. Then he tilts his head, his lips pulling into a catty smile. "Nowhere, I'm afraid. This is all bespoke, baby." Akira's eyes are drawn towards one of the boy's pale hands where he pinches the hem of his cape, gliding it downwards and flicking it away from him. "Made it myself."  
  
    "Oh."  
  
    Akira pauses, shifting ever so slightly and waiting for the familiar fanfare of chains and spooky voices announcing to the world that Akira is meeting someone who might later deign to call him a friend. But no fanfare is forthcoming. It's just the boy, watching him in growing amusement and folding his arms across his chest. "Something else on your mind, kiddo?" he asks. "Don't ask me if I'm a magician, okay? If you do, I'm contractually obligated to shove you into a box and saw you in half. Not many people bounce back from that one, you feel me?"  
  
    " _Wh- Is he serious_?!" Both Akira and the becaped vampire boy throw his bag an odd look as it begins squirming beneath Akira's arm again.  
  
    "Okay, okay. You got me. I'm not serious." His cape flutters again, both his arms lifting into the air. He holds his hand flat, and a packet of playing cards appears atop it. "I am actually a magician. You know anyone who's hiring?"  
  
    Akira shakes his head slowly. He doubts Sojiro would be in the market for a weird cat boy loitering around Leblanc startling all the clientele. Despite the rejection, said boy merely shrugs his shoulders and pops the box open with the very edge of his thumbnail.  
  
    "Oh well. Since you're here and you have such great taste in accessories, would you like to see a magic trick?"  
  
    He's probably sat through weirder, all things considered. Akira offers him a small smile in return. Maybe he'll get some guts or something if he sits through this. "Can I ask your stage name first?"  
  
    "Ah, yes. Of course. How rude of me!" He throws his arm out and over his chest, sweeping into a low, extremely melodramatic bow that somehow involves his entire body. "Call me Abel."  
  
    "Your stage name is Abel?"  
  
    "Wh- Yes, Abel." His back goes rigidly straight, and Abel wrinkles his nose at him and throws his hand to one bony hip. "Two of the most famous magicians of our time were both called 'Harry', so shut up."  
  
    Apparently this Abel is a touchy one. Akira smiles a little wider and folds his arms. "You were going to show me a magic trick?"  
  
    "Oh, right. Yes." Abel closes his fingers around the cardboard box and flings it outward in a smooth arc. Akira flinches, preparing himself for either a face full of cards or a crowd of extremely disapproving strangers when they rain across the floor. But nothing happens. He relaxes, angling back towards him to see the cards hovering in a neat line in the middle of the air. Above them is Abel's face, schooled into an expression of amusement and a tiny touch of smugness. "You alright over there?"  
  
    "That _is_ a neat trick," Akira concedes, because it's true.  
  
    "It gets neater." Abel's lips purse into another impish little curl, and he presses his fingers flush against the furthest edge of a card. Then he glides his hand over the tops of them, his fingertips skimming along plastic. It sounds like the whir of a fan. Once every card is facing up, Abel pushes them out, both his hands spread wide. "You like to play cards?"  
  
    At least they're not tarot cards. It's sort of a nice change. "I've been known to dabble."  
  
    "Yeah, you seem like it."  
  
    "Do I?" He's not sure whether he should be offended by that or not, but Abel doesn't give him much of an opportunity to try and suss that one out. He turns them all back over, passing his palm over the top of the arc and then placing both his hands at each end. He snaps them shut, pushing the cards back into a perfect stack that he splits down the middle and begins to shuffle.  
  
    That wouldn't be particularly noteworthy if it weren't for the fact that he does all this without touching them at all. The cards are essentially shuffling themselves while Abel remains poised above them, shifting his hands with only the implication that he's actually doing it himself.  
  
    Again, Abel thrusts the cards beneath Akira's nose and smiles for him. "Pick a card, any card! I'll pick one too, so fair is fair."  
  
    Akira blinks. Then he slides his hand forward, closing his thumb and forefinger over a random corner and easing it out from between the rest. The 7 of spades. It's somehow more mundane than he'd been expecting, but he's not sure what else it might have been. He lowers it again and watches with interest as Abel traces the tops of the cards, making a big show of trying to decide before he picks one out. "Okay, memorize your card," he orders.  
  
    He tilts his head, and another smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "How will I know which is yours?"  
  
    "You'll just have to take my word for it." Abel grins, and he plucks Akira's card from his hands, keeping it face down and nudging it to the top of the pile. Then he puts his own card on top of that one, also face down, and slaps them all together, re-shuffling them once again. This time it's damn near dizzying. Akira tries his best to follow along, but they move entirely too fast. Abel isn't even pretending to touch them this time.  
  
    Then, just like that, they halt, each card falling one on top of the other in another stack. Abel sweeps them up, fanning them out and poring over them. "Hm. Nope." He swats them away and throws his arms out. As his cape falls away from them, Akira can see that his black sleeves stop a little below his elbows. Abel reaches into each of them, groping around beneath each sleeve, then dropping his hands into his pockets instead.  
  
    Akira can admit he's a little mystified. Abel tries his front pockets, his back pockets, and even his cape's collar before he slaps his palms to his cheeks. "Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing. I can't believe I lost your card. I can't find it anywhere. Oh, wait-"  
  
    He isn't afforded even the chance to step back. Abel moves right into his personal space, one of his arms snaking around him, and his hand sinks deep into Akira's back pocket. He blinks stupidly as Abel draws out a playing card and bops the edge against the tip of Akira's nose. "This your card, handsome?"  
  
    It's the 7 of spades. Akira slowly lifts a hand, accepting the card from him and raising his eyes towards Abel's blazing red ones. "No," he says seriously.  
  
    Abel snorts at him and prods him in the forehead. "You are such a liar! You're the worst magic show audience ever." He steals it back, pinching the top of the card between his nails and snatching it from Akira's grasp. "Did you know that everyone is born under a playing card, just like your zodiac?"  
  
    He wants to say yes, but he actually hadn't known that, and the mild surprise is probably evident in his face. So Akira simply shakes his head.  
  
    "It's true! For example, mine is the 8 of hearts. I'm sure this will come as a shock to you, but the heart cards all tend to deal with emotions. Spades, though, are quite interesting. They're associated with wisdom and acceptance. I like the 7 of spades in particular, it's an interesting one."  
  
    Alright. Color him intrigued. Akira gazes back at him, pointedly watching Abel's face and not the way he's spinning a single corner of the card on his fingertip. "Why is that?"  
  
    "Seven is always a lucky number. People consider it the card that marries 'man', which is usually denoted by four, and 'spirit', or god, which is three. There are seven wonders of the world, seven deadly sins...etcetera, etcetera. People like it. The 7 of spades specifically is a card of power. Often, people born under it are willing to work behind the scenes to get what they want. You're a sly one. You have an innate ability to differentiate between truths and lies. Supposedly."  
  
    Akira doesn't move. He can still see the card twirling from the corner of his gaze, but he's staring straight at Abel's eyes as he speaks so blithely. "Yeah? My card can tell you all that?"  
  
    "Yep." Abel cocks his head. He swears he can see the wire frame of his headphones twitch like a real cat ear. "This is all extremely Googleable information for a smart guy like you, if you decide you don't believe me."  
  
    He snorts despite himself and smiles a little bigger. "Smart guy, huh? The card tell you that too?"  
  
    "That? No." Abel makes a noise and brings up his free hand to wave it dismissively. "I'm just assuming that, 'cause of your stylish smart-person glasses."  
  
    "Oh. Of course."  
  
    "Mm." Abel looks away from him finally, his hellishly bright eyes flickering down to the 7 of spades still dancing on his fingers. "But it's hard to work in the shadows all the time, I'm sure. Your ability to see through bullshit is frustrating when others can't. Isn't it infuriating, that other people can't see what you so clearly can? Almost like they just don't want to see it."  
  
    That's... Akira leans backwards. "I don't know what you mean."  
  
    "Sure, kid." Abel laughs so warmly it's almost disarming. Like a reminder that Abel isn't trying to unsettle him so much as he's...what? Offering friendly, creepily on-the-nose advice? "That's your struggle in life, is what I'm getting at. According to your card, of course. 7 of spades have a particular challenge: give in to the need to be recognized, or come to understand what victory truly means to them in the end."  
  
    Abel lets go, spreading his hand away and turning it at the wrist, snapping loudly. The cards disappear, popping out of existence with a loud crack. "Want to see which card I drew?"  
  
    He actually does. Akira nods again, his eyes glued to Abel's right hand. It raises up, curling behind Abel's own ear -- or at least, his headphone. He pulls out a second card that he hands to Akira with a flourish. The Joker winks back up at him.  
  
    His throat suddenly feels awfully dry. Akira lifts his jaw. Abel is watching him in open curiosity, a smile still hovering over his mouth.  
  
    "What does this one mean?"  
  
    "Are you kidding me?" Abel laughs and thumps the back of the card. "Jokers are wild. You should know that one."  
  
    Akira goes back to staring at it. Who is this guy? He jerks his head up to ask, but there before him is a blank white wall. There's nothing but him, Morgana, and the sandwich board. Abel is gone.  
  
    Had he just imagined that?  
  
    Bewildered, he brings his hand up to his face. The Joker is still resting against his open palm. Squinting, Akira flips it over to eye the back. There, in thick black marker, is a phone number.  
  
_call me!_  
_xoxo Abel_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fun little one-shot I wanted to write based loosely on an rp Katraa and I did. I hope you like it, babe. ♥
> 
> Katraa writes a wonderful Akira and you guys should all read her stuff.
> 
>  **update** : Thank you all so much for your sweet comments!
> 
> I decided to write their get-together sequel: [8 of Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915611/chapters/32025597). I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
